Find Me

by Debra Webb

  Find Me

  By

  Debra Webb

  Contents

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  Everywhere She Turns

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  Praise for Debra Webb's

  FACELESS

  "Faceless teased and taunted me until I stayed up all night reading, only to be stunned by the astounding ending. This is a blockbuster thriller screaming to be told in the movie theater, and I'd be the first person in line for a ticket. A Perfect 10 you're sure to enjoy."

  —Romance Reviews Today

  "The intricate nature of this story increases the tension as numerous unknowns gradually come to light. With every new revelation, Debra Webb weaves the yet-unsolved issues more deeply into the lives of her hero and heroine to create a gripping thriller."

  —SingleTitles.com

  "… [E]ven an experienced mystery solver will never see this ending coming."

  —TheMysteryReader.com

  "The collision of a straight-arrow hero and a fascinating anti-heroine gives a unique twist to an already complex and gritty novel—one that shows how truth and justice can be twisted, often with frightening results. In this town, murder, lies, and power are inseparably bound. Webb's tale reeks of corruption and deadly manipulation—an impressive brew."

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

  TRACELESS

  A Cosmopolitan "Red Hot Read" of the Month

  "Skillfully managing a big cast, Webb keeps the suspense teasingly taut, dropping clues and red herrings one after another on her way to a chilling conclusion."

  —Publishers Weekly

  "A steamy, provocative novel with deep, deadly secrets guaranteed to be worthy of your time."

  —Fresh Fiction

  "Traceless is a riveting entanglement of intrigue, secrets, and passions that had me racing to its breathless end. I loved this book!"

  —Karen Rose, author of Die for Me

  "Traceless is a well-crafted and engrossing thriller. Debra Webb has crafted a fine, twisting thriller to be savored and enjoyed."

  —Heather Graham, New York Times bestselling author of The Dead Room

  "The talented Webb has built a wide fan base that should be thrilled with her vengeful and chilling new tale."

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

  "Betrayal, secrets, lies and passion lead to murder in a small town… Traceless is a breathtaking romantic suspense that grabs the reader from the beginning and doesn't let up. Riveting."

  —New York Times bestselling author Allison Brennan

  NAMELESS

  "A complex plot and an eerily compelling villain make this fast-paced chiller outstanding reading. Take a deep breath and enjoy!"

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews (4.5 stars)

  Also by Debra Webb

  Faceless

  Nameless

  Traceless

  Available from St. Martin's Paperbacks

  FIND ME

  Copyright © 2009 by Debra Webb.

  Excerpt from Everywhere She Turns copyright © 2009 by Debra Webb.

  For information address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  ISBN: 0-312-53295-4

  EAN: 978-0-312-53295-6

  St. Martin's Paperbacks edition / January 2009

  I have dedicated more than one book to my family. But this story simply must be dedicated to those wonderful souls. First, to my incredible husband, who drove that giant U-Haul truck 1400 miles, ensuring that we were surrounded by the things we loved while living in Maine. He chopped firewood, kept the fire blazing and shoveled snow every single day. Thank you, honey, I love you so much. You went above and beyond the call of duty. Secondly, I have to thank my daughter, Melissa, for agreeing to leave all her friends behind and move to the middle of nowhere with dear old Mom. I, of course, also appreciate the cooperation of my three dogs. They too made this long journey and survived the winter in Maine. Lastly, I must express my sincerest appreciation to my older daughter, Erica, and her beloved, Ashley, for holding down the fort until we returned to Alabama. I love all of you and appreciate all that you do.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The coast of Maine is hauntingly beautiful. My family and I had the pleasure of spending five months in the dead of winter near Camden while I pounded the keys to bring this story to life. We lived in a century-old farmhouse surrounded by glorious mountains and the icy waters of lakes as well as the magnificent ocean. While we were there we learned many things about the folks who populate the proud state of Maine. Hardworking, enduring… but most of all caring about others as well as about this planet. The atmosphere was steeped in tradition and history. Exploring homes dating back to the early 1700s was utterly fascinating. More than once I found myself looking over my shoulder and double checking what I thought I saw from the corner of my eye. The cemeteries are amazing and if one is going to believe in ghosts, this is the place to believe. The very air vibrates with the centuries of living and dying. And the snow! Having grown up in the South, I could never have fathomed just how much there would be. All I can say is thank God for a husband handy with a snow shovel and good old four-wheel drive. But the simpler, slow-paced way of life in Maine made me feel right at home. A roaring fire kept the cold at bay while the old wood floors of the house creaked and groaned the same way those in my grandmother's house did.

  The village of Youngstown in Find Me is somewhat of a collage of the lovely villages we frequented: Camden, Rockport, and Rockland. I borrowed many of the street names and the Chapel of the Innocents, as well as the enthralling cemeteries. Every day brought new inspiration and the fire to get the story on the page. The characters are purely fictional products of my twisted mind.

  Thanks to Reny's, Scott's Place, Cappy's Chowder House and Hannaford's for providing us with all the essentials of daily life. A very special thanks to Rite Aid Pharmacy for taking care of us so far from home. My daughter had the misfortune of becoming very ill during our time in Maine, and we didn't have a clue which doctors were taking patients or where to go. Since we patronize Rite Aid here at home, I called the pharmacist at the Camden store. I explained the situation, and the pharmacist had my daughter an appointment with a local physician within the hour. That is old-fashioned neighborliness at its finest.

  As always, thanks to those who protect our communities: city and county police officers, as well as the state police and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Though we fiction writers at times
like to cast a bit of a bad light on the occasional character representing law enforcement within the pages of our stories, it is no reflection on those outstanding folks in real life who serve. We would be lost without you.

  Thanks to all those Mainers who graciously answered my questions and welcomed me into their homes. Big, big thanks to our closest neighbor, Peter Green, and his lovely daughter, Rachel, who befriended my daughter Melissa.

  I hope all who read this story will appreciate the stunning beauty of Maine's southern coast. I worked hard to capture that genuinely natural splendor. Keep in mind that in doing my research, I literally made every step through the snow right along with Sarah Newton. But it was my pleasure.

  Lastly, thanks to the many readers who continue to make my dream of storytelling come true.

  CHAPTER 1

  Footsteps echoed in the darkness. Faint at first, then louder.

  Her breath stalled in her chest. Was he coming back? Yes! Oh, God, he was coming back. A scream rushed to the back of her throat. The tape on her mouth imprisoned the sound.

  She struggled to loosen her bindings. The ropes or bands cut into her skin. Her wrists burned. She couldn't get loose! Couldn't reach up to tear away the blindfold.

  The devil was here…

  Oh, God!

  Wait. Wait. Wait.

  Be still. Her body trembled. Be still! If she didn't move maybe he would think she was already dead.

  Don't move. Don't move. Don't move.

  A sob ripped at her chest. Please, please don't hurt me.

  She could hear him coming closer.

  Closer.

  She'd gone to church every Sunday of her life. Why hadn't she listened better? Maybe then she would know what to do… how to save herself.

  A kick to her side made her gag. She tried to cough. The restraining tape stung her lips. Instinct curled her forward into a protective ball, her face pressed against her knees.

  Don't move. God, don't move. Don't even breathe.

  Be still. Be still. Be still. Quiet. Quiet. Quiet.

  He crouched next to her, the rasp of fabric grating her eardrums.

  Her heart thumped harder… harder.

  His repugnant lips rested against her hair. "I told you I'd come back." The harsh whisper exploded in her brain.

  He's going to kill me.

  She whimpered.

  Shhh. Be quiet. Stay still.

  "Don't worry." That exotic, lusty voice resonated thick and rough and sickening. "You won't die today. Maybe tomorrow."

  Her body seized and she trembled no matter how hard she tried to stop it. Don't move. Don't move! Her muscles refused to listen. They convulsed and quaked with a will of their own.

  His fingers twisted in her hair. Snapped her head back. Those mocking lips grazed her cheek. She cried out, the desperate squeak muffled by the chafing tape.

  Rich laughter echoed around her. "Don't cry. It won't be long now."

  A sob surged up her throat, died in her mouth. Then another erupted. She tried to choke back the sounds. Couldn't. Oh, God, she couldn't keep quiet.

  What did it matter? She was going to die. No one was coming to save her. Just like no one came to save Valerie.

  What had she done wrong? She'd walked home alone after cheerleading practice dozens of times. She should have listened to her mother… never walk home alone after dark.

  She was stupid. Stupid! Tears streamed down her cheeks… dampened the place where those full, disgusting lips touched her skin.

  "You'll hardly feel a thing," he promised softly, sweetly, almost femininely. "When it comes to pain, there's a certain point where your mind begins to block just how excruciating it really is."

  The hiccupping of her sobs made the repulsive mouth still pressed against her cheek curve with triumph.

  "First, I'll sew your eyes shut." Taunting fingers dragged across her blindfold. She shuddered. "It'll be so much better that way. You can't covet what you can't see."

  Somebody please help me! The silent plea resonated through her soul… but no one would hear.

  "The end result makes perfect sense."

  What made perfect sense? She didn't understand. Why was this happening to her? Why couldn't she remember how she'd got here? One minute she was walking… the next she woke up here. Cold, damp… and the smell. She shuddered. Like stagnant water.

  The devil pressed closer, the heat from his vile body drawing hers even as she wanted to scramble away. To run. But she was so cold. So very cold.

  "Everyone will be so much happier," the seemingly disembodied voice promised, its texture becoming velvety… soothing almost. "You've been such a selfish girl… such a rotten snob. The devil knows everything you do… and you've been so, so bad. Now it's time to pay."

  Terror relit in her veins, igniting her need to escape. She shook with the force of it, jerked at her bindings. Let me go! God, please, please help me!

  Her screams rammed against her throat… the sound silenced by the tape over her mouth.

  "I'll do things to you…"—his disgusting tongue flicked in her ear; she tried to draw away—"that will make you understand just how toxic you've been."

  Urine gushed free. Warmth soaked and spread around her bottom. The final humiliation. She had no control… she was completely helpless.

  Defeat drained the last of her fight and the fear let go of her heart. The certainty that no one was coming… that she was going to die… won the battle. One by one her muscles went lax. Her mind drifted from this awful place.

  "Lastly," he said gently, dragging her fleeing attention back to this dark, damp, evil place, "I'll mark you as a sign to ensure that no one ever forgets how beauty can conceal such poison." He hummed a satisfied sound. "Then, I'll leave and you'll die, cold and alone."

  The ruthless grip released her hair. Her head fell forward.

  The devil walked away, the scrape of steps on the stones growing distant, then fading entirely.

  Her body twitched and she collapsed onto her side against the cold, hard rocks. Vomit surged into her mouth and nose, strangling her with its bitter burn.

  No one was coming to save her.

  Not even God.

  She was going to die.

  Tremors quaked her powerless body.

  She didn't want to die.

  No. No. She didn't want to die.

  Find me. Please, God, just let them… find me.

  CHAPTER 2

  New York City, Friday, February 27, 4:27 A.M.

  Find me!

  Sarah Newton's eyes flew open!

  The air raged in and out of her lungs. For one endless second she felt paralyzed.

  A dream. Just a dream.

  She sucked in a ragged breath and sat up. Shoved the hair out of her eyes.

  "Shit." She forced her respiration to slow. Long, deep breaths. Hold it. Let it go. Breathe in slowly, count to ten, let it go slowly… slowly… slowly.

  Find the calm. You're awake now. No more dreams. Just relax. Pull it together.

  Little by little her body responded to the technique she'd used half a lifetime. She stretched her neck, then rolled her shoulders. The digital numbers on the alarm clock taunted her. She slapped the off button despite having another thirty or so minutes of sleep coming to her. That wasn't happening. She might as well get up and get ready.

  Kicking the covers back, she rolled out of bed. She needed coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

  She stumbled to the kitchen in the dark. Guided by the glow of the streetlight invading her narrow-but-prized kitchen window, she went through the necessary motions to get her favorite Colombia blend brewing. On the counter next to the microwave, the answering machine's blinking red light warned that she had a message. Probably a lot more than one. A closer inspection confirmed her speculation.

  Four messages.

  Answering the phone at home was something she rarely did. Once locked away in her personal space, she preferred not to be disturbed. The rest of the world could just
go away.

  If only that was possible…

  Knowing who had likely left the most recent message, she reached over and pressed the play button. Get it over with. If she failed to hear whatever instructions he'd left before she headed north, he'd bitch at her.

  Hearing was vastly different from listening and she only listened when she really wanted to. One would think he would have learned that lesson by now.

  "Sarah," her aunt's voice sang out, "you should be ashamed of yourself, dear. You never call anymore. I—"

  Skip. Next was her shrink. Definitely skip. Then the airhead of a guy she'd made the monumental mistake of dating a couple of weeks ago. Permanently erase.

  And finally the newest message.

  "Newton, what the hell is wrong with your cell phone?" a booming male voice demanded.

  She rolled her eyes. Yep. Her editor. Sometimes he treated her like a child. He should have had kids of his own decades ago. She was damned tired of him using her as a surrogate.

  "Remember, this is February. You're going to Maine. There are certain essentials you will absolutely need. Pack your gloves and winter boots and wear your fucking parka, for Christ's sake. I don't want you coming back here sick. Call me when you get to Youngstown."

  "Right." He would hear from her when he heard from her. Probably when he called her cell phone. And when she decided to answer, which was rarely at the same time.

  Sarah hit erase then turned back to the only essential she absolutely needed right now.

  Hot, steaming coffee.

  The mere smell was like sex, only without the awkward postmortem chitchat.

  Was it good for you?